The choice given in the garden truly puzzles me
That it came down to a simple fruit eaten from a tree
What could the fruit of life have been? Which one did He design?
What shape? What color? What could we assume
Changed the course for all mankind?
Do you think it was a coconut found high up and exalted
Palms waving us to come and see its sturdy yield undaunted
Or perhaps it could have been a humble shrub, quite ordinary
And only by stooping down could one taste its succulent berry
No, I’m sure it was instead another, a citrus, mango, or an apricot
Some tree to nourish us with strength,
Or perhaps on second thought- A pear!
It’s plain and not so bright, lacking any luster
Surrounded by so many others, stricken by its matted color
I reckon it more cunning, in all probability
The shady fig found barren, bearing nothing but leaves
What if the tree that Jesus bore was originally designed
With no stately form or majesty, to be the tree of life?
Had it grown up like a tender shoot, a root out of the dry ground?
With birds nested in its branches, producing fruit all year round?
Was it planted in Golgotha with just a mustard seed of faith?
Sown broken, raised in glory,
Buried in weakness but raised in strength?
I am a wild transplant, grafted into His wounded side
Even though I ate of that cursed fruit, in Him, I am alive
I don’t deserve his kindness; I’ve done nothing on my own
But He considered me worth dying for
And now I live to make Him known
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